


Experimental Conclusions

by SamanthaStephens



Series: Camp Evergreen [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Coming of Age, First Love, First Time, Long-Distance, Love Declarations, M/M, Virginity, college freshman Eames, high school senior Arthur, post-camp, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaStephens/pseuds/SamanthaStephens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after Arthur's life-changing summer at Camp Evergreen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End of an Era

Arthur can't stop grinning. He must look like a loon, starring at his feet and smiling fit to burst. He's just advanced to the semis at state, the farthest he's ever gotten. He can hardly believe it's really happened.

He normally rushes through changing after a match, usually even waiting to shower until he gets home. He has this probably paranoid, but very real-feeling, fear that in the future, someday when he's publicly out, some former teammate will be uncomfortable about having spent so much time undressed around Arthur when they were teens. Honestly, he tries his best not to sneak too many peeks, but it's difficult. 

The thing is, since school started in September, it's like blinders have been lifted from his eyes. He can't stop checking everyone out, noticing who has a pretty face, or sexy forearms or a great butt. Not that he's particularly interested in anyone, but it's just fascinating that he'd known most of these kids his entire fucking life and never noticed who was good looking before. Now he can't stop. 

But there are funny little clues that show he must have subconsciously picked up on people's appearances and felt attractions, even if he hadn't really been aware of doing it. Like how he'd defended Jamie Craighill so strenuously their junior year when he'd been accused of stealing. Despite plenty of evidence that he'd had every opportunity to do so Arthur had remained staunchly on Jamie's side of the story. The thing is, Jamie is incredibly handsome--not in a clean-cut way like Brent Jenner, the captain of the football team, or Louis Freesen, the soccer star--more in an up-to-no-good, scruffy way. 

Arthur, apparently, has a type. Embarrassing. 

He'd tried jerking off thinking about Jamie a couple of times, but he always ended up just thinking about Eames. No matter who he tries thinking about--actors, musicians, his dentist's sexy assistant with the skin-tight tee-shirts--he always finishes thinking about Eames. 

They've emailed pretty regularly over the past couple of months. Arthur isn't sure how much Eames is holding back about his college life, but he seems pretty open and candid, anyway. He apparently loves his classes--especially life drawing--gets along with his roommate, spends a lot of time exploring Chicago while it's still warm enough to venture around freely, and is growing out his hair. 

Arthur tells Eames most things about his life. Although he had censored a fairly eventful story about Lux, because it touched on some uncomfortable subjects. 

At the end of September Ziggy had broken up with her--over the phone no less!--because he felt like having a high school girlfriend was holding him back in college. What an asshole. Arthur had found her crying in the newspaper's storage room and, unthinkingly, put his arms around her as he had Ari when she'd sobbed into his shoulder on the bus leaving camp. But Lux had misunderstood his intent and tried to kiss him again. Arthur had recoiled, horrified, not really thinking about how it might make her feel, just sort of shocked that he'd miscalculated so badly. She'd run off once again in tears and he'd felt compelled to go over to her house and tell her the truth that night. She'd been surprised, but completely accepting and they were closer friends than ever now. 

But he couldn't tell Eames about all _that_. 

First of all, Ziggy and Lux's breakup was exactly the sort of thing Arthur had been so sure would happen between he and Eames if they'd tried to stay together after camp. Talking about it would only bring all those fights back to the surface. Or worse. Eames could tell Arthur that he'd been right to insist on the split, basically confirming all of Arthur's worst fears now that they're apart. 

Secondly, there was the attempted kiss to consider. Arthur didn't want Eames to get the wrong idea, to think that he was here at home making out with people right and left. And he certainly didn't want Eames to share any stories in turn. 

Arthur had almost told Eames about it when he'd called him on his birthday a few weeks ago, but the conversation had turned to Ari's recent visit to Arthur's house and he'd lost his nerve.

Ari had visited on her Fall break at the end of October. She'd been supposed to go stay with Robert and his father in Massachusetts, but they'd broken up just a week before the planned trip and she hadn't wanted to stay at home feeling sorry for herself, so she'd come to Arthur's instead. She'd met all his newspaper friends and come to one of his tennis matches. His parents had loved her. 

Everyone had assumed she was his girlfriend, never mind that he'd repeatedly denied it. It should have made him glad that his secret was so safe. But instead he kept thinking about how if Eames ever were to visit him, he'd either have to lie about the nature of their friendship or hide him entirely from the prying eyes of everyone at school. Or come out. But he was nowhere near ready to do that yet.

But it had been great to see Ari, regardless. He'd missed having someone to talk to in that easy way from camp, where nothing else about their lives mattered, just their relationship to each other. He'd kept in touch with Doug, too, as promised, and Yusuf had emailed him a few times, and he'd even gotten an honest-to-God letter from Mal, French stamps and everything. But nothing was as great as sitting in his parents basement just shooting the shit with Ari while she played her guitar. 

Arthur is just standing there in his underpants and a tee-shirt, spacing out like he usually never allows himself to do while changing in public, when he feels a persistent prickle on the back of his neck. Or perhaps it's something in his peripheral vision, because he turns and sees the top-seeded player, Matthew Lichty, a sophomore from Allentown, eyeing him from the corner of the locker room. 

He hurriedly finishes dressing, pleased that the predicted winner apparently considers him a threat, but not wanting to linger and face any more scrutiny despite the flattery. He heads out into the sunlight and strolls in the direction of the hotel where he and the other competitors are staying. 

He eats a sandwich at the cafe outside, texting his parents the news of his victory. When he's done he grabs a Gatorade and granola bar from the shop in the lobby and strolls toward the elevators, where he sees Matthew Lichty lounging on a velvety love-seat and flipping through a magazine. 

He's on the verge of telling the kid off for acting like a creepy stalker, top seed or no, when their eyes meet in the mirror and Arthur realizes, to his complete and utter shock, that Lichty isn't scoping the competition, he's checking Arthur out. 

Arthur's lips form a tiny, silent "oh" as he and Lichty remain frozen, starring at each other via the mirror. The elevator dings open and then slides silently closed again without either of them moving. Finally, Arthur breaks the gaze and hits the call button again, breath still caught in his throat. 

It's not that he finds Lichty particularly handsome--although he is reasonably cute with floppy red-tinged curls and big brown eyes, if a bit too gawky and long-limbed. It's that while post-camp life has brought a new depth to Arthur's observations of his classmates, the only guy Arthur has ever known to be attracted to him in return before now is Eames. He feels sort of ashamed about it, but there's something enticing about the attention, about the way Lichty looks at him in the mirror's reflection. 

When the elevator doors open once again, Arthur offers a tiny grin and turns enter. Lichty surprises him by hopping off the love-seat and joining him. 

OK. This is unexpected. 

Deep breath.

"What floor?" he asks, making every effort to keep his voice calm. 

"I'm on 10, but I'm not going to my room yet. I just wanted to talk to you for a sec." 

Arthur gives Lichty his best no-nonsense look. What does this kid think he's doing?

"Is this some kind of intimidation technique?" he asks, refusing to play into it if it is. 

Lichty's brow creases in a frown. 

"No. I just thought you were ... looking at me like ... I thought you might ... " he bites his lip in hesitation and Arthur's can't help but stare at his mouth. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But it's all the approval Lichty needs, apparently, because he darts forward and kisses Arthur. 

The embarrassing part is that he gasps with pleasure when he feels Lichty's tongue licking against his lips and automatically, without thinking about it at all, arches against him, pressing their bodies together as he opens his mouth to return the kiss. 

"What are you _doing_?" his mind screams at him. But his body is starved for touch and he can't stop himself. He brings his hands up to clutch at Lichty's shoulder, just as the elevator dings for his floor. 

He breaks away and sticks his foot out to keep the door open. But he's unsure of what to do next. Should he ask Lichty to his room? He doesn't really want to, but he doesn't want to just walk away and pretend this never happened, either. Should he ride back down to the lobby and talk about it with him on that love-seat? Should he let the door close and go back to kissing without a plan in sight? 

Thankfully, Lichty seems to have a clue. 

"'I'm supposed to be resting. Not expending myself, if you catch my drift. But if you want to celebrate tomorrow after the match, I'm in 1012." 

Without thinking about the implications of the invitation Arthur responds: "Celebrate my victory you mean?" 

He doesn't actually think he's going to win, or probably even advance to the final, but he can't let Lichty's obscene confidence go unchecked. 

Lichty merely raises an eyebrow at the remark. 

"You're a cocky bastard," Arthur responds and, to his glee, Lichty blushes at the words, probably thinking about them in an entirely other context. 

"Come find out tomorrow," he chokes out, but he's not nearly suave enough to pull it off without making Arthur laugh. 

"Maybe," Arthur says, unsure of what he wants to come of this strange encounter. 

Then he leans forward, brushes one last, quick kiss across Lichty's lips and strides out of the elevator while he feels like he's still got an ounce of dignity. 

What the fuck _was_ that?

He tries very studiously not to think about it for the rest of the evening. 

It's incredibly difficult at first, alone in his room with nothing else to occupy him. But once the team meets for dinner, everyone bursting with excitement at Arthur's advancement, anything not strictly tennis-related flies straight out of Arthur's mind. He falls asleep visualizing his serve. 

\---

Everything goes very quickly the next morning--so fast he barely registers any of it. He's heavily favored to lose the match, but the visualization must have worked, either that or he really, really wants to meet Lichty on the court, because he bests his opponent thoroughly. 

His coach is over the moon. He calls his parents, who are ecstatic. 

Lunch and afternoon rest are a daze. Ending his high school career in the state championship finals is more than he ever could have dreamed. Playing under the lights for the first, and honestly probably only, time in his career. He couldn't ask for more. 

Well he wishes his parents could be here, but he understands. His dad can't really close the store for a whole Saturday, which is his busiest day of the week. And his mom wasn't able to change her shift at the clinic. Anyway, they wouldn't be allowed to attend the banquet afterward. That's for players and coaches only, so it would be sort of a long trip to not get to spend much of any time with Arthur. 

Also, there's the matter of after the banquet ... He's trying not to think about it, but Lichty's invitation is lurking in the back of his mind. He's not sure what to do about it, but he doesn't want it to distract from his focus from the championship match. 

Of course, he loses. 

But he doesn't even feel that disappointed about it. He'd played his best and it's much farther than he's ever gotten before now.

He does, however, feel an overwhelming sense of melancholy about his final season being officially finished and not having any more matches to which to look forward ever again. A big part of his life from the age of seven onward is now done forever. It's weird. 

Lichty winks at him during the presentation of their awards and Arthur lets his anxiety about the situation come flooding in, overwhelming him. 

What should he do? 

The kiss was nice. He hasn't been touched like that since August and only after it ended had Arthur realized how much he'd truly missed feeling someone else physically close like that, someone male, particularly someone male and interested in him. And Lichty is reasonably cute. And he's confident, seems to know what he's doing. It would probably be fun, if maybe a little awkward.

But ... Eames. 

Arthur knows that they've made no promises to each other. But he can't help feeling like it would be a betrayal anyway. Lichty is a _stranger_. Eames is one of the most important people in his life. 

The whole time he's showering and dressing--thankfully in an otherwise empty visitor's locker room--Arthur debates with himself about what, if anything, he owes Eames. If he's just following the letter of their arrangement, the answer is nothing. But he can't help feeling that he owes Eames everything. 

Without Eames he would have left camp frustrated and still confused, or possibly humiliated having tried something with Robert or some other guy. But it's more than that. Last summer Eames was his best friend. Is still one of his closest friends. If Arthur hadn't insisted on them keeping their distance from each other this Fall, they'd probably still be as close as ever, maybe closer. 

And even setting that aside, does Arthur really want to be the kind of guy who goes to some stranger's hotel room? 

It's not that he thinks it would be _wrong_ to do so, but it's not really how he pictures himself. Arthur wants to be a boyfriend-type guy, not a random-sex-and-never-see-each-other-again guy. 

He's only 17. Even though Lichty is just a sophomore, Arthur still feels like he's too young for this sort of thing, nevermind that every other guy he knows would almost-certainly jump at such an opportunity with a girl. Maybe. Or perhaps they'd feel the same way and all that talk is just for show. Arthur has no idea, honestly. 

He's not even sure what would happen if he went Lichty's room. I mean, sex, obviously, but ... what if Lichty wants something more than Arthur is used to or isn't ready for? Or what if his confidence extends only to kissing and he expects Arthur to teach him what to do beyond that? What if it's painfully awkward? 

Or what if ... he can hardly allow himself to even think it ... what if it's _better_ than it is with Eames. 

But the very idea is laughable. What he and Eames have, or had, is ... well it's more than just sex and although Arthur doesn't like to think about the emotions there too hard, he can't lie to himself and say that his feelings aren't a part of what made their activities over the summer so ... intense. 

More than anything, he wishes he could call Eames and ask for advice. But, of course, he can't. It would be utterly inappropriate.

He could possibly reach Ari, but he's not sure he wants to listen to what she has to say on the subject. She'd practically forgotten all about Robert hours after breaking up with him, already scheming how to get the attention of a guy she liked from school. She wouldn't understand the precariousness of the situation, the fragility of their connection. 

Maybe he could call Eames, just to call ... to tell him about the tournament. That would be a legitimate reason to call, right?

But it's Saturday night. He might be out partying and not notice his phone ringing in his pocket. He might be hooking up with some art school guy in a paint - splattered dorm room, furiously tearing off each other's clothes ... he can't let himself think that way. It's too painful. 

As he walks back to the hotel, Arthur decides that he'll call Eames as soon as the banquet ends. If he answers and wants to talk, then Arthur won't go to Lichty's room. If he doesn't ... well he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it. 

Arthur forces himself to pay attention during the ceremony, although all his brain wants to do is think about calling Eames--wondering whether he'll answer and what he'll say. But this is his last time being here--and his first time being in second place--and he's got to enjoy it no matter how much he wants to race up to his hotel room and curl up with his phone. 

He ignores Lichty the entire ceremony. Hopefully not in a cold way. He just doesn't want to send off any confusing signals until he knows what will happen with Eames. He makes sure to leave the banquet with a group of teammates, so that Lichty doesn't try to catch his eye. 

Once he's alone in his room though, Arthur is seized with terror about actually making the call. What if Eames doesn't answer? What if he does, but seems distant or distracted? 

Since they've only spoken once all Fall, and it was planned in advance, Arthur honestly has no idea how Eames will react. He's not really prepared for the heartbreak that might happen if it doesn't go well. 

On the other hand, that kind of hurt and anger would probably give him the courage to actually show up at Licthy's door, which might be a good thing.

He takes three deep breaths and dials the number.

It rings. And rings. _And rings_. 

Arthur is disheartened. Some part of him had always believed Eames would answer. But then, just as he thinks it's about to click over into voicemail ... 

"Arthur?! Are you all right? Is something wrong?"

Eames sounds so worried and Arthur is flooded with guilt. He should have texted first so as not to incite panic. He knows he would probably freak out if Eames called him out of the blue, given their arrangement. 

"No, no everything's fine. ... I just ... I wanted to talk, if you're free, of course. It was just my last tennis match ever, or seriously competitive one anyway ... I feel ... Weird, I guess? But it's OK if you're busy. We didn't plan this or anything."

"Not too busy, no. I'm just in the studio mucking about with some paints. But I'd much prefer hearing about your match." 

The tight feeling in Arthur's chest unwinds, all the anxiety about making the call--and about Lichty--completely forgotten. Eames' voice is so warm and welcoming, so clearly happy to set aside his work and talk to Arthur. 

"What are you doing painting on a Saturday night anyway?" he teases. 

"I'm not in painting class until next semester. But I like to sneak over here and mess about when it's mostly empty. Although it's never entirely empty. There are always seniors somewhere about toiling away on their final projects and acting paranoid about someone else seeing their work." 

"Be nice to them. In a few years that will be you." 

They joke about a future Eames sleeping on a pile of shredded canvas and eating out of the vending machines, beard grown out like a mountain man and clothes full of holes. 

Then Arthur tells him about making it to the final game, about how thrilled he is to end his career this way, but also how sad he's starting to feel about it too. 

"You could always try to play at university," Eames notes. 

"I know, but ... I know where I want to go and I'm not going to pin all my future plans on which school let me play for their team. It's time to move on. I feel it ... I just ... This is the right thing for me. I just want to feel sad about it for a little while first." 

"Perfectly understandable. I'm really proud of you, Arthur, for doing so well." 

Arthur's body goes warm all over. 

"I was worried. I'd never taken a summer off before. But it must have done me some good." 

"May I confess, now, that I would have felt terribly guilty if you'd had a poor showing this season?"

"No, you can't. I won't accept such thoughts." 

"Well I'm just glad I don't have to have then."

They talk for over an hour, Arthur trusting Eames to let him wallow in his strange mood without it taking on further significance. He can hear Eames moving around through the phone, doing arty things in the studio while he listens. It feels like old times.

Arthur knows, without a doubt, he made the right decision to stay in his room and call Eames. It doesn't even matter if they're on the path to getting back together, or just to becoming better friends again. He needed this--to be able to talk and relax and be himself--much more than he needed whatever Lichty would have given him, no matter how starved for contact he might feel.

When Arthur yawns loudly, however, Eames says he should go and let Arthur sleep.

"You must be knackered after a day like this."

"I am, but ... "Arthur trails off, unwilling to say that he doesn't want this perfect moment between them to end.

"You can ring me anytime, you know," Eames says, anticipating Arthur's worries, as usual.

"Well, I am hoping to visit Northwestern and University of Chicago next month. So maybe I'll call to arrange for us to meet up while I'm there?"

"Brilliant! I can't wait to see you, Arthur. Whatever you need, just let me know."

"I will. I promise."

"Thank you for this."

"No thank you. I can't believe you actually picked up."

"As if I wouldn't, darling"

The endearment cuts like a knife. Arthur knows Eames called him that before they'd started dating. It doesn't necessarily mean anything. But Arthur realizes how much he wants it to. God, he hopes he hasn't made the biggest mistake of his young life by letting Eames get away.

After they hang up he dials the front desk and asks to be connected to Lichty's room.

"Hey, it's Arthur."

"What the fuck, dude? Are you coming or what?"

"No. Sorry. I ... " he decides a lie is easier than the truth in this situation. "I'm seeing someone. We got in a fight before I left town and I thought maybe it was over. But ... well, it isn't. I'm sorry to be a dick. We just got off the phone."

Lichty surprises him by saying, "no I get it. I'm really glad you found someone. Gives me hope, you know?"

"Uh ... thanks. Great match today and good luck next year."

"Thanks, Arthur. Have a good night."

"You too."


	2. School Visit

Arthur's foot is jiggling uncontrollably across his opposite knee as he rides the elevated train from Evanston to meet Eames for dinner downtown. He is both incredibly excited and utterly consumed with nervousness. It's hard to keep himself from jumping up and pacing back and forth in the train car. 

He hopes he doesn't look too dorky for Eames' art school setting. He's still in his interview clothes--wool trousers, collared shirt and tie, v-neck sweater--and probably looks like a giant nerd. The only bright spot is the new dress boots that Arthur's father had bought him for the trip. Arthur is not much of a clothes horse, but these boots fill him with a sense of happiness and make him feel grown up and cool. 

Of course, no matter how he looks, visiting Eames at school is going to make Arthur feel childish and silly. He has no idea how things are going to go between them and he feels like his youth puts him at a disadvantage, even if Eames is just barely 19 himself. Eames is in college and used to being away from home besides. Arthur has spent the whole Fall settling back into being his boring school self, not the relatively carefree guy from camp. Eames will probably think he's terribly boring and immature now after most of a semester at the Art Institute. 

Things had been almost awkward between them on the phone while planning the visit. Arthur had felt a bit worried about telling Eames that he couldn't see him until after his day of touring Northwestern, not wanting any distractions from the experience. Eames had insisted that Arthur didn't need to stay with him so many times that Arthur couldn't help worrying, just a little bit, that maybe Eames didn't want him there. He was pretty sure Eames was just trying not to presume anything, but it was hard not to feel confused about the situation. 

They aren't back together and he has no idea what Eames wants in that regard. Maybe he wants to be Arthur's boyfriend again now. But maybe he just wants to hook up with him and then carry on the same as they've done all school year so far. Or maybe he just wants to be friends. 

Arthur would like to get back together, but only if they're really going to do it. He's thought really hard about the idea of an open relationship and he knows he couldn't handle it. He doesn't want to let anything happen with Eames until he knows where they stand. But he also knows it's going to be awfully hard to turn Eames down, even if they don't want the same thing. 

He is fucking _starving_ for physical affection, and, not to be crude, but for someone to make him come. Before Eames he'd kissed one person per year and not really felt all that deprived by the sparseness of this arrangement. But it's been about four months since camp ended and he's absolutely _dying_ for any kind of contact. 

Sometimes he absolutely kicks himself that he gave up his chance with Lichty back at the state finals. It will absolutely have been worth it if things work out with Eames between now and when he will report for his overnight with a University of Chicago student on Sunday. But if it doesn't ... Arthur may be beating himself up over that decision for a long time. 

Arthur gets a little turned around leaving the train station and ends up circling the block where they're supposed to meet from the wrong direction. He's a few minutes late as he walks up and sees Eames standing standing on the corner scanning the opposite sidewalk. 

He looks _good_. Skinnier than at camp, although probably still toned under his layers of winter clothes. His hair is much longer than the close-cropped cut of the summer, and is blowing around in loose waves as the wind gusts down the street. 

He suddenly realizes that he's never seen Eames in street clothes before. He can't get a good look at everything from this angle, but Eames is definitely wearing tight, skinny hipster jeans and a 70s-style green suede jacket. One end of a ridiculously long scarf is trailing down his back. He doesn't look like he's dressed nearly warm enough for the early December weather, especially compared to Arthur's own thick wool dress coat. But he does look very put together and deliberately attired, in an unconventional way. He also looks crazy sexy. 

"Hey!" Arthur calls, still several feet too far away for conversation, but unable to wait another second. 

Eames turns, hands in his pockets all casual, but a smile lighting up his gorgeous face. Arthur can't help grinning back. 

He'd almost forgotten how beautiful Eames is since he'd last seen him. He'd remembered the basics--the luscious lips, the warmth behind his grey eyes, the crooked smile--but he'd forgotten how it all fit together with such imperfect perfection. 

They exchange an awkward, one-armed hug and Arthur is overpowered by the scent of Eames' skin, or maybe it's his shampoo. Whatever it is, it's so familiar and yet so seemingly unavailable to Arthur at the moment. 

He knows, instantly, he's not going to be able to put of an ounce of resistance if Eames tries anything with him. No matter how many promises he made to himself that he'd insist on talking about what they want from each other first, his ability to deny himself what he wants melts away just from the stilted embrace. 

If he weren't so scared, he'd kiss Eames right now on the rush hour sidewalk in front of everyone. But he's not quite sure enough that Eames wouldn't recoil or resist or do something humiliating in response. So he waits. 

"We could go for supper if you like. Are you hungry?" Eames asks, biting his lip and scuffing one of his white Chuck Taylors on the sidewalk.

Arthur shrugs.

"We didn't have lunch on the campus tour until 2:30. I'm not really hungry yet. Do you want to show me around?" 

He desperately wants to put down his overstuffed backpack and the sleeping bag he's got tucked under his arm, but he's not ready to go to Eames' dorm room yet, just the two of them alone together in there, starring at each other and tripping over their sentences. 

Things slowly get less awkward as Eames takes him inside a building and shows him some classrooms and studios. Their conversation still isn't as natural as it was on the phone on Eames' birthday or after Arthur's state championship. But Arthur isn't worried about it. He's sure they're just unsure of where they stand or what this visit means. 

Part of him wants nothing more than to lay it all out on the table, tell Eames everything he's omitted from their emails and conversations. But he's afraid that Eames won't want the same things he wants and that it will make everything worse afterward. So instead he rides out this tension between hope and fear, and follows Eames dutifully around the campus. 

Eames stops in front of a tall locker and fidgets, biting his lip. 

"Would you like ... I could show you my work, if you're interested." 

Arthur knows this Eames, the shy irresistibly boyish version, from camp. And he knows how to react to him--with reassurance. 

"Absolutely, Eames. I'd be honored." 

Eames pulls a giant portfolio bag out of his locker and leads Arthur over to a small, dingy couch and coffee table in the corner. As he shows Arthur through a semester's worth of drawings he starts to relax, unable to contain his excitement over a particularly satisfying piece or hold back on an interesting story from that days' class.

When they reach the end of the portfolio, Arthur is filled with longing to touch Eames--even just his hand or his knee or his hair, especially his hair. He wants to be able to show his pride at Eames' work with the kind of confident affection that would have been natural between them in August. 

But he can't, so he just says: "It's really good, Eames. I feel like I can see you learning as we look through the drawings."

Eames is practically glowing with the praise. 

"You know, I framed the picture you gave me for my birthday. It's above my desk at home." 

"Arthur that's ..." Eames trails off, unable to complete the thought, but his face shows that he's touched by the gesture. 

They sit there quietly looking at the last drawing for a minute or two. It's clear that they have to go to Eames' room sooner or later. Arthur doesn't want to head to dinner with his sleeping bag, after all. But he doesn't want to broach the subject and Eames doesn't seem to, either. 

"So I discovered this delightful little curry house nearby, if you'd like to have supper now," Eames finally says.

"Uh, yeah, OK. I don't know a lot about curry, but it sounds good. You can help me decide what to order, right?"

Eames nods and grins as he stands up to stow his portfolio back in the studio locker. Arthur either has to speak up about his things now, or take them along to dinner. 

"But, uh, before we go, do you think I could, uh, you know, put my stuff away? I don't really want to bring my sleeping bag to the restaurant."

"Of course. I'm so sorry. How rude of me. Let's get these off your hands straight away." 

That wasn't so bad, Arthur thinks. 

But then Eames starts talking about sleeping arrangements and Arthur wants the floor to open up and swallow him. 

"My roommate, Elgin, well his name is Adam, but he's called Elgin, he's out for the night and he said I could sleep in his bed so that you can take mine. I hope that suits you. I hate the thought of you on the floor. Is that how you had to manage last night?" 

"Uh, yeah. But it wasn't so bad." 

"Well I'm sure you'd much rather a bed. Anyway, he'll be about for a bit tomorrow afternoon, but will sleep at his girlfriend's again, so not to worry. I'm sure you'll like him."

"I hope this isn't too much trouble." 

"No not a bother at all. I'm so happy to have you here, Arthur, you can't even know." 

Eames grins lopsidedly and Arthur's heart melts all over again. If doing this makes Eames smile like that, then Arthur can handle it. He'll have to handle it. 

He still can't tell whether Eames is just being polite by offering to sleep in his roommate's bed, or whether he's signaling that he doesn't want anything to happen between them this weekend. Arthur realizes that if Eames keeps up this gentleman act all night, then he'll probably have to be the one to broach the subject. 

But not yet. Please, God, not yet.

They enter Eames' dorm through a side door as Eames babbles nervously about extra sets of sheets and a spare towel and whether or not to draw the shades against the morning light before bed, but Arthur is having trouble focusing. He can't stop thinking about how they're minutes away from being in Eames' room, where Eames has a bed. A bed he sleeps on and a bed he might have brought other guys home to this semester. 

As they're climbing a flight of narrow, windowless stairs, they pass a couple of guys on their way down. One of them greets Eames with a crooked smile that looks somewhat predatory. Arthur can't help noticing that he is obscenely handsome, with blue streaks in his black curly hair that match his shockingly bright eyes. 

Then he turns to Arthur and looks him up and down without bothering to hide it. 

"And who might you be?" he leers. 

Eames pauses on the landing above, an annoyed look on his face.

"Arthur, Charles. Charles, Arthur," he says and turns to continue climbing. 

His voice is strained and unfriendly. Arthur hasn't heard him talk to anyone but Nash with that kind of tone. He wonders what this guy did to piss Eames off so damn much. 

Charles smirks, but it's not exactly friendly. 

"Pleasure to finally meet you, _Arthur_ " he says, eyes roaming between the two of them and pausing on Arthur's sleeping bad. "I was beginning to think you were imaginary." 

"Piss off, Charles," Eames spits out.

Arthur is pleased that Eames is apparently talking about him to his classmates. 

Then Charles says: "The elusive Mr. 'It's Complicated' finally puts in an appearance. Hope you're worth it." 

Arthur looks up in confusion and sees that Eames' face is aflame. 

It suddenly dawns on Arthur that Eames' discomfort with Charles might not stem from dislike, but from them having a history together. He is overwhelmed with jealousy. 

He'd told himself over and over again that he'd be OK with whatever Eames has been up to at school this semester. But he'd never even considered that he'd have to face it head on like this during such a brief visit. 

And he is _not_ OK. He wants to sink into the floor. He wants to turn around and run back outside and beg that University of Chicago student to let him arrive two nights early. But he can't do any of those things. He could burst into tears, but he's trying his best not to do that, either. 

He is such an idiot. Now here he is trapped in a nightmare of his own making.

He numbly follows Eames' ascent, Charles' "have a good night" echoing behind them up the stairwell. He has to pull himself together. He can't let Eames see how upset he is, how he's roiling with jealousy. 

But it must be obvious, because the second Eames shuts the door of his dorm room behind them, he says, "it's not what you think, Arthur." 

"It's none of my business anyway," he responds, proud that his voice doesn't shake. 

"It's everything to do with you." 

He's blushing again, but the gaze he fixes on Arthur is defiant and bold. 

"In September we walked home together from a party and he asked me up to his room. I declined and he's been a bit of a twat about it ever since. Doesn't take rejection well, apparently." 

Arthur is flooded with relief. Almost giddy. 

Before he knows it he says,"what's that got to do with me?" 

"I wasn't planning on discussing this with you just yet, but if you must know, I haven't been with anyone since you and I were together at camp. I wanted to prove that I didn't need to, that it wasn't a sacrifice ... " 

"Eames ..." Arthur whispers, and without thinking about it he reaches out and grips Eames' forearm. "... are you saying?" 

And then they're kissing. 

It's amazing. Arthur is overwhelmed with the feel of their bodies against each other, with Eames' arms wrapping around his shoulders, with they scent of Eames this close, the way he tastes. It's everything he wants.

He's walking Eames backward toward the bed on the left side of the room, the one with an enormous British flag draped behind it. It must be Eames'. He's over-joyed. Eames doesn't want anyone but Arthur, and Arthur can't wait to take off all their clothes and celebrate this fact. 

And yet--and yet--there's a tiny clutch of guilt in his chest that won't let go. Eames may have remained faithful to the idea of Arthur, despite their agreeing in August that he didn't have to do so. But Arthur himself had been with someone else. Granted it was just a few kisses, but he still knows it would be wrong not to mention it.

Eames falls back across the bed and pulls Arthur down on top of him. Oh fuck, he feels so good, so right in every way. Arthur has missed this electricity between them, and even more than that, he's missed the innate sense permission that everything they want from each other is OK. 

"Wait," he gasps, pulling back. "Wait."

Eames gives him a look that's a mix of curious and fearful as Arthur rolls to sit up on the mattress, keeping them apart. 

"I have ... I have to tell you something first."

Now Eames looks properly scared and Arthur really, really doesn't want to tell him about Lichty. But he knows it's the right thing to do and putting it off will only make it worse down the road. 

"About a month ago ... I ... I kissed someone else. Just for a few minutes. I didn't really mean for it to happen, it just kind of did." 

Eames' expression doesn't change. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Was it ... was it a girl?" 

"No. Would it ... would it be better or worse if it was?" 

Eames' shoulders sag with unmistakable relief. 

"Thank fuck. It would have been worse, decidedly worse. I thought ... I was worried ... I don't exactly have the best history with ..." he trails off, unintelligibly. 

"Eames, all I've done for weeks is regret that we did it this way. I was so stupid." 

"No, no. I understand why you wanted it like this. Now more than I did at camp. I certainly saw it happen, most of my classmates who started school in a relationship are now single, or are in a different relationship. Your fears had merit. Well in a general sense they did. As for myself, I just wanted to prove to you that I could do it. It wasn't even difficult, Arthur. Maybe if I were a different kind of person, had had a normal relationship before I met you ... But I've never known anyone to be the way that you are with me. I didn't want anyone else. I ... I was a bit afraid you would think I was pathetic. But I thought if I could just show you ... "

And then it all comes pouring out. Arthur doesn't want to hide anything from Eames anymore, can't quite remember why he ever did. 

He tells him about Lichty and the elevator, about the real reason for his phone call after the championship game. He tells him about Lux and about his newfound attraction to the boys at school and about how none of it can compare to wanting to get back together. 

It's a giant torrent of confession and it leaves him exhausted. He feels like he's just run five miles, like he's been swimming against a current. They should be devouring each other in Eames' bed, but everything feels too fragile to do anything but lean against each other and hold hands. 

Eames' stomach growls. He blushes embarrassed, biting his lip. 

"Let's get something to eat," Arthur says, happy to have some goal to accomplish now that absolutely everything is laid out between them. "You must be dying." 

They decide to order a pizza and wait in the lobby of Eames' dorm for the delivery man. 

Eames keeps the conversation light and fit for public ears, telling Arthur about his hopes to volunteer for the historical society the next semester if he can make it work with his schedule and his plans to go shopping for a real winter coat on Monday with some classmates who are from the area. 

"I do have one that's a bit warmer than this," he gestures to the green jacket that he's still sporting, "but I wanted to look good for you and I think this really suits me." 

Arthur grins. 

"You look obscenely hot," he says. "I hadn't really realized until we met on the corner that I've never seen you totally out of camp clothes before. Even on our days off, you wore that ugly polo shirt and your painting jeans. I didn't really know what you'd dress like in normal life." 

Back in the room and two slices deep into the pizza, Eames lies down with his head on Arthur's lap. The presumption of intimacy between them causes a warm feeling to spread out from Arthur's chest and down his arms. Without thinking, he reaches out cards his fingers through Eames' hair, which is so soft, just as he'd imagined. 

"I like it long like this. I couldn't quite picture it over the phone. But it's nice." 

"Mmmmmm ... " Eames nuzzles into his thigh at the compliment. 

He mumbles something unintelligible against Arthur's leg. 

"What's that." 

"Feels amazing. God, Arthur, you've no idea. I've missed you so much. I'm allowed to say that now, right?" 

"Not only allowed, encouraged," Arthur says, polishing off the crust on his second piece. 

"So," Eames responds, turning his head to look straight up at Arthur's face. "Does this mean that we're back together?"

"I hope so. I mean, it would be pretty stupid not to at this point, right? It's what I came here hoping for and it seems like you ... "

"Had the same goal, yes." 

"We are so stupid. No ... _I_ am so stupid. I should have listened to you back in August. I feel like such a moron and an asshole."

"No please don't, darling. I've spent quite a lot of time, too much time probably, considering this situation. And to my mind, it was the best thing for us, even if it was difficult. Now you know for certain you can trust me, becauseI was faithful even though I didn't have to be. And ... please don't laugh, but ... well, I was afraid ... I was really afraid that you ... would decide to play straight when you got home ... after everything with Callum a few years back ... I ... I thought you might try to pretend that our summer never happened."

Arthur's heart breaks a little bit hearing that. 

"Eames," he says. "I would never, ever do that to you." 

"Well now that I'm certain you're interested in kissing boys aside from me, I'd like it if you could refrain from doing so going forward." 

Eames is smiling and his eyes are twinkling, so Arthur knows that he isn't going to get lost in his past right now and he says, "well you're a much better kisser than Lichty was anyway." 

"Are you quite certain? I mean you've hardly even had a chance to compare." 

"True. I should probably do something about that," Arthur responds, leaning over and sliding his fingers into Eames' hair to lift him up and bring their mouths together. 

It feels so right, and even better than before, because there's no question hanging in the air this time. Arthur knows that this is where he belongs and that Eames wants him too. Arthur wants to make it last forever, to show Eames that he was worth the wait. 

Of course, that's not likely to happen ... he's already on the verge of coming as he kneels up and then crawls over to push Eames down into the mattress, grinding their hips together. A frisson of delight races up his spine, a promise of things to come. 

There's so much he wishes he could express with words, but he doesn't know how, so he just does all the things he remembers Eames liking from the summer. He runs a hand down Eames' ribcage to grip his hipbone. He licks Eames' earlobe and bites at the juncture between his neck and shoulders. 

Eames' arms are wrapped around Arthur's back, clutching at him and pulling their bodies closer together. Arthur doesn't want to pull away, but he doesn't want to come like this, either. Well, he wouldn't mind coming right away, actually, but he doesn't want to make Eames come like this. He wants to do better for him. 

He slithers down Eames' body and undoes his ridiculously tight jeans, fighting to pull them off his hips. Eames has on tiny, ridiculous, purple underpants, which make Arthur laugh. But only for a second, because Eames' dick is straining against them and he can't help leaning down and fitting his mouth around it, moistening the soft cotton with his breath.

Eames is groaning his name, saying "please," asking for more. How can Arthur deny him? He slides Eames' underwear down just enough for his dick to spring free and slides his lips down over the head, swirling his tongue around in a circle, like he knows drives Eames wild. 

It's over very quickly. 

But Arthur is glad, because it means he won't have to be embarrassed for coming fast himself, because he is barely holding on at all. And, in fact, it's got to be less than a minute after Eames wraps a spit-slick palm around Arthur's own dick that he's rocked with an orgasm, coming harder than he has in months and almost certainly staining his sweater. 

Eames flips them and is immediately all over Arthur, nuzzling his neck and squeezing him in a giant hug. Arthur pets his hair and smiles lazily, loving the aggressive cuddling, even if he's too boneless to do much in return. 

"Let's stay in all day tomorrow," he says. "Hopefully I'll have all next year to explore Chicago and it's fucking freezing out anyway." 

"More interested in exploring all the ways we can get each other off?" Eames purrs. 

"Something like that ... "Arthur replies. "Also in sleeping. God I feel like I haven't been this relaxed in months." 

Eames pulls back and smirks at him, a glint of pride in his grey eyes. 

"I'm so glad you're here, darling. This is better than I could have hoped, honestly. I don't think I'll let you go come Sunday."


	3. Spring Break

Arthur takes the train from Pittsburgh to Chicago the first Saturday of spring break. He's so excited that he can hardly stay still in his seat and manages to read only a few pages at a time, separated by long breaks to daydream about seeing Eames again in just a few hours time. 

It's a far cry from his anxiety before his last visit that's for sure. 

Back in December, Arthur was all worries. Now, he's just eager as Hell to get his hands on Eames, to see his goofy smile in person, to taste and smell him, to fall asleep wrapped around him--and to do all this every day for a whole week. 

Not that the upcoming visit is completely without stress. Arthur has a few things wants to accomplish between now and next Sunday morning. 

First off, and most-importantly, he wants to work up the courage to use "the L word." They've been dancing around it on the phone and in chats for at least a month. But Arthur hasn't been brave enough to actually say it (or type it). And, anyway, he figures it's the kind of thing that's better to do in person for the first time. 

Regardless, he has no doubt that he is in love with Eames. He'd spent so long studiously ignoring any feelings deeper than friendship between them, because they scared the Hell out of him. But it's gotten to the point where even Arthur can't deny it any longer. 

The second thing is somehow even more terrifying. He wants to raise the idea of having sex-sex together. He knows Eames isn't entirely comfortable with the idea, or at least he hadn't been eight months earlier when the subject had awkwardly come up between them at camp. And Arthur hardly even understands how it works anyway, if he's being honest. But he feels like two people who are committed and exclusive and, gulp, _in love_ , should probably at least consider it. 

He's tried, at length, to imagine it, but he honestly can't. He always defaults back to thinking about the things he knows how to do. He spent a little time looking online, but the results he'd found were kind of scary--and kind of hot--but mostly confusing. He'd given up and figured that Eames would know more about it than him, anyway, having been aware of his own sexuality for far longer. 

The last thing Arthur needs to accomplish this week isn't scary at all though. It's something he can't wait to do. He's going to have to restrain himself from blurting it out right there in the train station, honestly. It's better if he just shoves it down to the bottom of his mind for now, so he can wait until the perfect moment to tell Eames the big news. 

Arthur had had to enlist Heather's support in making the trip happen and it hadn't happened without compromise. She'd insisted that if she helped Arthur pretend to visit her in Champaign, then she would get to meet Eames in Chicago next weekend for lunch. Overall, though, Arthur hadn't minded too much. He knew he was lucky to have a sister who was so supportive, even if some of it might have been due to guilt over dragging him through all of her teenage relationship drama when he was too young to seek refuge elsewhere. She'd been genuinely sad when she'd asked him about Eames at Thanksgiving and he'd told her he thought he'd fucked everything up between them. And she'd been happy for Arthur when he'd told her at Christmas that they were back together. That was when he'd gotten the idea for this visit. It had taken him a solid month to sell her on it though. Funny how protective she was of him, given how completely not protective of herself she'd been back in her own high school years. 

When the train hits the outskirts of Chicago, Arthur goes to the bathroom and checks his hair and washes his face, so he hopefully doesn't look quite so rumpled. He pulls on a fresh sweater from his bag and changes from his old running shoes to his favorite dress boots. He knows Eames won't like him any less if he shows up looking travel worn, but that doesn't mean he isn't going to try to be put together--until he's in Eames' room, anyway, where he plans to get naked and sweaty as soon as is humanly possible. 

It takes all his willpower not to push and shove his way off the train when it comes to a stop in Union Station. It feels so romantic and old-fashioned, meeting a boy in a train station, and such an architecturally beautiful one, too. But Arthur can't dwell on the moment, because Eames is suddenly there, wrapped around him, overwhelming all of Arthur's senses with the reality of his presence. 

They break their hug long enough for Eames to lead him outside--the building really is stunning, from what Arthur can see in their rush to the door--and hail a cab. But then they're making out in the back seat in broad daylight. Arthur knows he should be embarrassed, knows they're probably pissing off the driver, knows this could even be risky behavior, but he just can't be bothered to care at the moment. 

Arthur is feeling bold and impatient when they arrive--finally!--at Eames' room. He doesn't waste a second of time taking what he wants, knowing that Eames wants it, too, even if Eames would probably be a bit more gentlemanly about it if left to his own devices. Arthur throws his bag on the floor and shoves Eames against the door, dropping to his knees and giving Eames no time to protest before his dick is in Arthur's throat. 

They've had a lot, a hell of a lot, of long-distance sex over the past few months, online or on the phone, and it means that Arthur isn't shy and nervous about getting physical. It's something they talk about nearly ever other day. He's learned to say and write things that would have made him keel over with embarrassment six months ago.

Eames must have gotten off before he met Arthur at the station, because he actually lasts. Not that Arthur is complaining. He loves it, loves being able to take the time to taste Eames and savor the feel of his skin and actually do all the things they drive each other crazy talking about all the time. When Eames comes though, it's explosive, and he collapses on top of Arthur, pinning him to the floor, babbling like crazy as he tears at Arthur's clothes and kisses his exposed skin. 

" ... so good, so gorgeous ... miss you so much ... Oh Arthur, I love you so much ... "

Arthur's heart just about stops when he hears that, but there's no time to respond, because Eames is licking an excruciatingly slow strip up Arthur's dick and his mind goes temporarily blank with pleasure.

Eames must want Arthur to last, because he's not taking Arthur in, just licking him like an ice cream cone, and peppering his upper thighs and hip bones with tiny kisses. It's torture, but it's also bliss. No fantasy, no dirty talk, no jerk-off session can compare to this, to Eames' hands and mouth on him.

Slowly he eases his fingers into Eames' hair. It's not something he's done before, nor something it would have ever occurred to him to do. But Eames has mentioned it more than once in the fantasies they toss back and forth to get each other off over the phone, so it's obviously something he wants to try, and he responds to it immediately, humming with pleasure and sucking Arthur into his throat.

And then, oh fuck, he's coming, without even time to warm Eames, who just swallows it down with a light cough.

Eames waives off Arthur's apologies, and pulls him to his feet where he strips him down to his underwear and coaxes him into snuggling under the covers. Arthur's brain feels fuzzy with sleep now, but Eames jolts him back awake.

"I'm sorry I said it like that, Arthur. I meant it, of course, but I wanted to do something special, romantic, not just in the middle of sex ..."

Arthur's heart rate picks up as he remembers what Eames had blurted out in the heat of the moment.

"Eames, shush. I'm glad you did. I ... I love you, too ... you know that, right? I wanted to say it so many times, but I was scared and I wanted to wait 'til I could do it in person, which is scarier anyway, and I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I'm glad you did it first, because I might have taken all week to work up to it."

Eames is smiling with his whole face. He might actually be glowing.

For as long as Arthur's known him, Eames has always been a friendly, jokey guy. But once he learned to look for it, Arthur's always seen an underlying uncertainty and fear behind Eames' eyes, too. It makes him feel a bursting sensation right in his chest that he can sometimes be the reason that melancholy undertone disappears and is replaced with this unrelenting grin.

"I had this whole foolish plan involving flowers and candles and ridiculous Hollywood nonsense."

Arthur laughs.

"I didn't have a plan, jut to do it. It was my top goal for the week."

"Oh? And what are your other goals?"

Arthur decides not to mention the one about sex. Now that he's actually here, he's so happy to just indulge in all of the things he hasn't been able to do since December. Why bother trying something new until he's had his fill of all the old things?

But he does have that third goal ...

"Well ... " he draws it out. "I do have some news for you."

Eames sits up on his elbows.

"News?"

Arthur bites his lip and smirks. He is so excited to tell Eames, but he also likes savoring this moment before telling him.

"Well let's have it then. Come on."

He can't help shouting a bit when he says it.

"I got in! To Northwestern!" 

"Are you having me on? Arthur you had better be serious."

"100 percent serious! I'll still have to wait to hear on financial aid, but ... I'm in!"

Eames practically smothers Arthur, rolling them across the bed and up against the wall. His face is buried in Arthur's neck and he's squeezing so tight that Arthur can hardly breathe.

Eames backs off to press their foreheads together and look at Arthur's face. His eyes are huge and shining with joy.

"I found out a week ago, but I wanted to tell you when I got here. You're not mad I waited, are you?"

"Oh my days, no. I am ... Arthur in the space of five minutes you tell me that you're in love with me and that you're coming to live in Chicago next year. Short of my parents ringing and summoning me back home immediately, I don't think anything could spoil my day."

"Well just remember, it depends on financial aid. I mean, chances are good. So far I'm also in at Michigan, Purdue and Bucknell and I don't think any are likely to be considerably more generous anyway."

Eames's face turns serious.

"Arthur, you're certain that this is where you want to go, yes? You're not deciding just because I'm here, are you?" 

"Eames I've been dreaming of this school since a family trip in eighth grade. That's when I was 13, by the way. I promise. If you were at school in New York I wouldn't have suddenly made Columbia my top choice. I ... I have very strong feelings about you but you don't have to worry about this OK?"

"So I'm just the beneficiary of some very good luck?"

"I promise."

"I feel as if I should take up gambling with luck like this."

"I don't think they'll let you trade paintings for chips, Eames. You need cash money."

"Mores the pity. I'd like to have you as my arm candy, blowing on my dice for luck like in the films."

"I'll blow on something," Arthur says.

And then they're play wrestling, very nearly shoving each other off the bed and rolling back down to the floor. But before anyone hurts himself, they're suddenly kissing again, hard and grinding against each other as if they hadn't both come just minutes earlier.

Arthur runs his hands all over Eames' chest and abs, soaking the heat of his skin through his fingertips. Then he flips them and gropes Eames' thighs and ass.

"Mmmm you feel so good. So fucking good. Just think, next year I'm going to be able to touch you all the time. Just like this."

"Oh Arthur ... Arthur please ... don't stop."

Eames writhes and moans as Arthur jerks them both off with one hand and runs the other up and down Eames' spine, whispering endearments into Eames' ear. It makes him feel sexy and grown up, telling Eames how good he is, how he makes Arthur feel.

They spend the whole day in bed and a good part of the next as well, talking and laughing and getting each other off until they're worn out entirely.

Arthur had told Eames back when they first planned this trip that he wanted to spend time with Eames' friends from school, get to know them and get a feel for Eames' regular life. After all, next year they won't be able to just spend all their free time wrapped up in each other, nor should they, even if they could.

But they still want a little time to themselves before the week starts and Eames goes back to class and Elgin starts sleeping in the room again. 

The week flies by, as Arthur knew it would. 

He spends his afternoons exploring the city. Some evenings he finds himself hanging out in various dorm rooms drinking beer and listening to conversations about everything from post-modernism to Pokemon. He tries to participate when he can, and Eames' friends laugh at his jokes, at least. He doesn't feel so young and stupid around them as he'd feared, although he does feel like a bit of a jock surrounded by coffeehouse poets. Other nights he sits with Eames in a studio chatting about their days while Eames does his homework. They always find some time when Elgin is away to have sex in the room, or sneak into the showers together when everyone's else is in bed. Every night they fall asleep entwined around each other and every morning he wakes up with his his chest pressed up against Eames' back and an arm around his waist. 

It isn't quite like camp, but it isn't painfully different, either. They talk about the next year and how they'll have to come to terms with not being able to see each other every day, even living in basically the same city. They promise to trust each other to always talk about any problem that arises. They swear to make the most of their summer together back at Evergreen.

"I wish I could just spend the summer here," Arthur says. "But my parents would never allow it." 

"Nor mine, I'm sure. I'm already unsure how to broach the subject of housing next year with them."

Elgin and Eames are planning to find an apartment together the following year, as only freshmen are allowed in campus housing. Arthur is glad, because he really likes Elgin, so called after his nearby hometown. They spend a Wednesday afternoon together on an architecture tour with Elgin's girlfriend, Melyssa, when Eames is in class and Elgin treats Arthur like an old friend. His easygoing optimism is the perfect match for Eames. Arthur's heartened to see that, at least sometimes the assigned roommate thing can work out. He hasn't even declared for anywhere next year yet and he's already anxious about living with a stranger, and especially about what the stranger will think about Arthur's sexuality.

Friday after lunch Elgin takes off for Melyssa's room for the weekend, saying a warm goodbye to Arthur and expressing hopes to see him around frequently the next year. Arthur takes advantage of the privacy afforded by stripping down to his underpants and jerking off in Eames' bed, partly to give him self stamina when Eames gets back from class, and partly just to picture Eames doing it in this exact spot. 

Arthur dozes off and wakes to Eames pouncing on him, hands freezing from the outside air. They're wrestling around and starting to transition into making out when Arthur feels bold. Vacation is almost over, after all. 

"Eames, wait," he pulls back. "I wanted to talk to you about something." 

It's a sign of how far they've come since December that Eames doesn't so much as frown or flinch, just smiles and waits to hear what Arthur has to say. 

"I was wondering ... well ... if you ... I was thinking about ... do you think we should ... what do you think about having sex?" 

"What do I think about it? I love it." 

"No I mean ... you know ... the kind we haven't had." 

"Oh! Oh. Um well, slightly terrified, honestly. Is that ... is ... is that something you want?"

"I don't know, I mean sort of. I was just thinking about it when I was getting ready for the visit and wondering if it's something we should be doing." 

"Should be doing? We don't have to do anything, Arthur, only what we want." 

"Well eventually I want to try it, but it doesn't have to be right now or anything, I just thought maybe we should talk about it, since the last time it came up was before I'd hardly ever done anything." 

"I mean I want to too, someday, but it seems so ... well, scary and potentially very painful. And we've never done anything remotely related, or at least not together anyway ... " he trails off, blushing. 

Arthur cants his head to the side, questioning. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Arthur! You want to progress to hardcore fucking and you don't even know what I'm talking about here?" 

"Well not hardcore. More like ... gentle-core?"

Eames doubles over with laughter. 

When he catches his breath again Arthur asks, "no seriously." 

"You know ... " Eames' face is on fire now. "Like ... fingering. I'm taking it to mean that you have not attempted it on your own?" 

"Oh ... is that ... I didn't know people ... on their own ... _have you_?" 

Eames just shrugs and bites his bottom lip. 

"What's it feel like?" 

"Odd, really odd at first but ... when you come it's utterly fantastic." 

"Why didn't you show me? Before, when we were at camp that time when I watched you jerk off?" 

"I dunno, it seemed a bit much for us at the time. I didn't want you to think that it had any bearing on us and what we did together, or that I was expecting ... Anyway, it's frightfully awkward." 

"Would you show me now?" 

"Did you not just hear the part about it being frightfully awkward?" 

"Yeah but ... I can't stop imagining it. I bet it's really sexy," he kisses softly down Eames' throat as he asks, trying to be seductive but not pushy. "I'll try it, too, after, if you want. You can show me how to do it." 

Eames shudders and turns to kiss Arthur, who starts undressing him. Whatever Eames says in answer, Arthur wants to have him naked one way or the other. 

"I'll give you your little demonstration. But you mustn't laugh." 

"Eames," Arthur whispers, trying his best for seductive. "I think the last thing I'll want to do is laugh." 

Eames goes rooting around in his bedside drawer for a little tub of Vaseline and strips completely naked, lying on his back with his knees up in the air and his feet flat. He spits in his hand and gives his dick a few tugs before twisting his arm around behind and underneath himself. Arthur can't really see, curled up next to him like this, but he notices Eames taking a deep breath and his eyelashes fluttering on the exhale. 

He watches with rapt attention as Eames' far arm makes mysterious little movements and his closer hand gently strokes over the head of his dick, toying with the foreskin. Eventually, Arthur can't take it any more and he sits up on his knees and inches down toward the end of the bed, so that he can see exactly what Eames is doing. 

Oh! He's got two fingers inside himself, gently moving them in and out with a slight twisting motion. He's breathing hard and fast and flushed all across his chest and neck. 

Arthur reaches out and pushes Eames' legs a bit farther apart, wanting a better view. But when Eames moans at the contact, he decides to run his hands up and down the insides of Eames' thighs. 

He's stroking Eames' legs and hooking his thumbs down around the curve of Eames' ass, all to delicious response. And then he suddenly feels that he has to try to do what Eames is doing, with his own fingers in Eames' body. It is just so fucking intoxicating. 

"Eames," he whispers. "Eames, can I? Would you let me?" 

Eames looks up at him glassy eyed, not quite comprehending. Arthur touches Eames' hand, right where his fingers are breaching himself. 

"Can I try?"

Eames nods. 

"Yeah, but, please, petroleum jelly first. And ... be gentle." 

"Of course, baby. Of course." 

Arthur isn't really one for endearments like Eames is, but he feels the need to reassure, to express his gratitude that any of this is happening at all. 

He coats is fingers very liberally with Vaseline, probably way more than is even necessary and then uses his other hand to pull Eames' fingers gently out of his own ass. 

"Wait, Arthur, just ... be gentle, but also be ... I don't know how to describe it ... be quick to slide inside, but then be gentle once you're there. I'm sure this makes no sense at all ... "

"Hush, Eames. I won't hurt you. You won't let me. Just tell me to stop if you need." 

He's not quite sure where this confidence is coming from, honestly. He has no earthly idea what he's doing. But he's pretty sure this isn't going to work if Eames isn't relaxed, so he tries his best to sooth, running his un-greased hand over Eames' belly and up and down his thighs, kissing the inside of Eames' knee. 

Eames is breathing normally and Arthur slowly, slowly, slowly moves his fingers to where Eames' had been just moments before. He just rubs the tip of one finger around in a circle and Eames keens in response. 

It's now or never. 

Deep breath. 

He pushes his index finger against the opening. Hard. Possibly too hard. Eames gasps, but Arthur can't tell whether it's from pleasure or pain. Hopefully pleasure. Oh god, it feels so weird. His finger just slides right in and Eames' body is so tight around it. And so hot, much hotter than on the outside. Fuck. 

He just sits there for a few second, starring at his hand. Whoa. This is weird. 

Then Eames starts wriggling around a bit, so Arthur slowly, slowly, slowly moves his finger around in a circle. Eames' breathing picks up. When Arthur twists his wrist, Eames whimpers. He tries to gently pull his finger back out again, but he's scared to go too far, so he barely moves it at all. 

"Please, Arthur, more," Eames whispers from behind the hands that are thrown over his face, whether from embarrassment or just passion, Arthur isn't sure. 

"OK I ... yes ... tell me if I ..."

"Arrrrrthur," Eames pleads.

He starts pumping his finger in and out which makes Eames' slow, deep breathing turn into panting. It's kind of amazing. He feels a little bolder, so he twists his wrist again. Eames lets out a long, low moan in response, so Arthur repeats the motion. His whole world, all of his focus, is constricted right now to this tiny connection between he and Eames, the length of one finger.

He's in the middle of trying to shift his balance when he accidentally curls his finger a tiny bit against Eames' insides. It may not have been an intentional movement, but the response it provokes is one he wants to repeat over and over. Eames actually arches off the bed, the small of his back forming a perfect bow over the sheets. Holy fuck that is hot. 

Arthur does it again. And again. Eames sounds almost pained in his pleasure after the third time. So Arthur backs off a bit, returns to a simple in-and-out motion. 

Then, after a few minutes have passed, and Eames is looking suitably glassy eyed, he tries squeezing a second finger in alongside the first. Eames winces, but then Arthur wiggles the two digits alongside each other and it makes him writhe and moan. 

Arthur has never seen anything like this. Sure he's heard Eames groan and curse while getting head, but Arthur can't really _see_ it happening. And when they exchange handjobs, he's usually too preoccupied with his own pleasure to make a lot of observations. 

But this, this is something different. He can watch how Eames reacts to every movement--how he seems almost completely and utterly lost in his own head because of what Arthur is doing to him. Arthur doesn't want it to ever end. 

Of course, he eventually realizes that Eames is not going to come from this. Arthur will have to push him over the edge by touching his dick. He kind of wants to just keep going at it forever. But looking down at Eames, who is sweaty and grasping at the sheets with both hands, Arthur knows he should help him out and let him come. 

Also, Arthur is still fully clothed and would eventually like to get off himself. He's loving the overwheming awesomeness of making Eames fall apart so much that his own need isn't pressing. But sooner or later Arthur knows he's going to reach a breaking point and need to come.

It's kind of difficult to maneuver his body without risking hurting Eames, but he manages to push one of Eames' legs down against the sheets and lie awkwardly on top of it so that he can wrap his mouth around Eames' dick. Eames yelps and comes almost immediately. 

Arthur rights himself, eases his fingers free and moves to lie next to Eames, who is panting and shaking as if he'd just finished running a marathon. Or maybe a sprint. Arthur has _never_ seen him like this after sex. 

He feels an overwhelming pride and arousal that he did this, he made Eames turn into a puddle of Jello. And he's also a bit curious, wanting to know what it feels like, whether he'll have the same reaction when Eames does it to him. 

He can wait though. It seems only polite. Arthur runs his hands through Eames' hair, gently scratching his scalp, soothing him while he relaxes. 

Finally, Eames rolls halfway over so they're looking into each other's eyes and says: "Arthur that was ... I've never in my life ... I'm at a loss for words." 

Arthur smiles and kisses Eames' nose. His whole chest feels warm with affection. 

A minute later Eames stammers: "Do you want ... I can do the same for you, if you like, or ... well ... if you ... I'd let you ... you can fuck me ... if you want to." 

Arthur inhales sharply, surprised. 

"Eames you said you weren't ready." 

"I've changed my mind. I ... If you can do that, make me feel like that, then I have nothing to fear." 

Arthur frowns. He _had_ brought up the idea of sex, so it seems ungrateful to turn it down. It's just that ... 

"I always kind of pictured it happening the other way around," he says, probably sounding like an ungrateful ass. 

"Well we can do that way, too, obviously," Eames capability for logic seems to have come back online. "It's just that ... well ... I'm all, you know, _open_ and everything right now, so ... or did you never want to ... ?" 

Arthur considers this. He hadn't really thought it through all that much, honestly. He'd just imagined that Eames would know what to do and would show him. 

"No, no I do. It's just ... well ... you're older and more experienced ... "

"Not really anymore. Well older, yes, but our experience is the same at this point." 

"Yeah but ... you've taught me everything I know ... I just kind of figured ... "

"All right. We don't have to ... "

Something about Eames' small voice when he says this knocks the sense back into Arthur. Here is this wonderful, sexy, incredibly guy and Arthur is in love with him and he's saying that they can have sex and Arthur is rejecting it because it doesn't perfectly align with some half-baked fantasy he'd had? What is he crazy? 

"No ... no, I'm being an idiot. I ... I want to. Will you let me? I'm sorry. Please ... I ... yeah you're right, this is ... I want to." 

A deep blush spreads across Eames' already-pink cheeks.

"What about, you know, protection?" Arthur asks.

"Elgin has some in his drawer. He made certain to tell me several times before you arrived. Not that ... I haven't told him anything about ... what we do. Or don't do. I suspect he just likes making me blush." 

Arthur laughs. 

"Anyway, we can use that, if you like, although, we don't have to ... I'm ... It's silly, but I got tested before leaving home, just in case, even though I've hardly done anything that could be considered a risk, even the tattoos are safe, but, you know, just in case. My doctor encouraged it. So, if you wanted to use nothing, we could ... "

"I ... I don't know." 

"Well I only brought it up because you're not supposed to use petroleum jelly ... with latex, so ..." 

"Oh, I ... I hadn't thought of that. I ... well I guess if you don't care. I trust you." 

"It's up to you, Arthur, you're the one who has to wear it ... or not." 

"Let's go without. I don't want it to disintegrate or whatever. Sounds gross." 

They pause, grinning at each other conspiratorially. 

"You'll have to show me what to do. I'm obviously a total newbie to this whole arena," Arthur says, resting his hand lightly on the swell of Eames' ass as they face each other on the tiny bed.

"It's not as if I have any idea, either, Arthur. Just ... use your cock like you did your fingers." 

Arthur laughs. 

"Oh sure, it's so easy." 

Eames makes a considering face. Arthur's suddenly afraid that Eames is changing his mind and can't bear it, which is ridiculous given that just minutes ago Arthur had rejected the idea himself. 

"Do you think ... "Eames says, pushing Arthur back flat against the covers. "Would you mind if I ... " he climbs to straddle Arthur's stomach "... did it this way?"

Arthur's heart rate picks up instantly seeing Eames looking down at him, realizing how close Eames' ass is to his own dick. They must have been in this position before. But not when sex, real sex, actually was a possibility on the table. 

He licks his lips and opens his mouth, but only nods. 

Eames chews his lip nervously and then sort of inches backward a bit, grabbing Arthur by the shaft as he moves. 

"Wait," he says, halting. "Will you ... will you close your eyes?"

"What?" 

"I feel as if ... I could do this with fewer mistakes if no one is looking. That sounds absurd, I know ... "

"It's OK. I can do that if you want. It doesn't have to make sense. You can trust me." 

Eames gives him an adorably dorky half-smile, acknowledging how silly he's being at the same time as he thanks Arthur for not making a fuss about it. 

Arthur isn't in a mood to make a fuss about anything. He kind of can't believe this is happening, even though he's the one who brought it up. Everything has proceeded exactly opposite from how he had thought it would go down, and it makes the unfolding events seem surreal. 

He realizes he's starring stupidly up at Eames, probably looking like a lovesick puppy. 

"OK so ... closing my eyes ... 1, 2, 3 _now_." 

"Don't open them. Promise." 

"I swear, Eames. Cross my heart and hope to die." 

Arthur hears Eames huff out a laugh, but doesn't feel it, because Eames' legs are tense against his own midsection. He reaches a hand up to stroke Eames' thigh, he hopes reassuringly. Eames grazes Arthur's fingers momentarily with his own and then starts scooting backward, lining himself up. 

Arthur sucks in several deep breaths, preparing. He's not sure what this is going to feel like, but he wants to react to it with some level of dignity. Also, he wants to be sensitive to the fact that, even if he likes it--and how could he not?--Eames might be in pain. 

God he hopes it isn't too awful for Eames. People like this. He knows they do. They just have to figure out how to make that happen. Right now it seems sort of impossible. Eames had obviously liked Arthur's fingers, more than Arthur ever would have expected him to. But, well, not that Arthur thinks he's huge or anything, but ... bigger than two slender fingers anyway. 

Eames has positioned Arthur's dick between his ass cheeks and it already feels amazing. Arthur is already on the edge just from this. Well even if Eames hates it, it probably won't last long, Arthur tells himself. 

Eames makes a tiny little strangled noise as he lowers himself onto Arthur, who is trying very hard not to cry out with pleasure himself, to be sensitive to Eames' situation. 

It's ... like nothing else he has ever experienced. Arthur's mind is swimming. But he reaches out, groping blindly for Eames' free hand, not wanting him to feel alone in doing this. Eames squeezes, hard, really hard. It hurts. 

"It's OK," Arthur says, even as he's torn between the intensity of the pain in his hand and the pleasure everywhere else in his body. "It's OK ... "

He doesn't even know what he means. He's losing himself. He's trying not to make too much noise, but he knows he's moaning a bit and panting a lot, saying Eames' name on the exhale sometimes. He wants it to last forever, but he can feel the end coming up on him so fast. 

"I'm ... I'm going to ... I'm ... " 

And then he's coming, shaking from it, flailing one hand out until it smacks the wall and gripping Eames' with the other. 

Arthur is still sort of out of it as Eames extricates them from each other and flops down next to him on the mattress. 

But as soon as Arthur's head stops buzzing, he wraps both arms around Eames and nuzzles close to whisper how much he loves him and how he'll never forget this, as long as he lives. He feels a bit silly doing it, like someone from a movie or an embarrassing TV show, but he is scared that Eames didn't like it at all and he wants his gratitude to be very clear. 

"Did you ... was it awful?" he finally gets the courage to ask. 

Eames turns in his arms, he's not smiling, but his eyes are warm and fond. 

"No, Arthur. I promise. It was ... odd. I could almost feel ... I was right on the verge of feeling something like what I did from your fingers, I can see how people like it, but I couldn't quite get past the ... fullness." 

"Did it hurt a lot?" Arthur asks, brushing Eames' cheek with his thumb. 

"It hurt, but it wasn't excruciating. I think with more time ... sorry ... "

"Eames, you _do not_ need to apologize to me. I'm not ... I know I hardly lasted at all. I ... I didn't think it would be better to have taken longer for the first time, not that I could have controlled it anyway, but I was really scared of hurting you and ... I thought that at least it would be better to have it over with quickly. But I guess not ... ? Maybe?"

"Don't fret, Arthur. I'll let you do it again," Eames is smirking now, clearly pleased that Arthur liked it so much. "Perhaps not tomorrow. I think my arse will be rather sore, but this summer, certainly." 

"Tomorrow I want you to use your fingers on me. We'll see what happens from there. I mean ... I can't promise I'll like it or that it will progress to ... anything like this. But I want to try that much anyway." 

"Whatever you like, Arthur," Eames says, yawning. "Let's have a kip before supper." 

He turns around, getting into their usual nighttime spooning position. 

Arthur isn't all that tired, having slept for two hours between lunch and Eames finishing class for the day, so he just snuggles up lets his mind drift. 

After several minutes of basically just repeating variations on "holy shit, that just happened!" to himself, he starts to think about how much Eames must trust him to have pulled a total 180 in the course of, maybe, an hour. He hopes to God that Eames won't regret it. Pretty much the last thing he ever wants to do is hurt Eames. 

He doesn't like to think about the guys Eames had been with before, but he does it now, because he wants to make sure that he hadn't done anything to push Eames into it, or that would make Eames doubt his feelings. Arthur doesn't want to have anything in common with that pushy, manipulative bastard Alton. Never, not ever. Arthur hates him more than anyone, even more than the other guy from Eames' past. 

Back in December, when Eames had confessed that he'd feared Arthur would try to pretend nothing had ever happened between them, Arthur had wanted to fly to England and find that Callum guy and pound his face. To act like that after he'd invited Eames home with him! 

Arthur wonders if he'll ever be able to invite Eames to his own family's house. Maybe it could erase some of the demons from Eames' past and let Arthur show him how serious he is about his feelings, even if Eames is better at talking about them than he is. 

In fact ... the more the thinks about it, the less crazy it seems. 

OK, yeah, it's pretty crazy. But Arthur does plan on coming out to his parents sooner rather than later. He's been kind of half-planning to do it sometime next year, maybe at Thanksgiving or whenever he's first home for a break in the Fall. If he and Eames are still OK by then, he doesn't want to have to pretend that he's single, not after what will be quite a long time together as a couple. 

It's sort of terrifying to imagine his parents visiting him at school and inviting Eames to join the family for dinner at some nice restaurant--his dad quizzing Eames about class, his mom swooning over Eames' accent. Or whatever it is that parents do when they meet their kid's significant others that doesn't involve screaming and throwing things after walking in on them fucking their daughter in their own king-sized bed. 

But ... what if he told them now, then invited Eames to visit, maybe at the end of his school year in May? Would that be utterly insane? Or actually really nice? 

They're having lunch with Heather tomorrow, the promised meeting to guarantee her covering for him all week. Maybe he can bring it up with her then, see if she thinks he's nuts. 

Or maybe he should ask Eames first? What if he wouldn't even _want_ to meet Arthur's family? Maybe it would terrify him. 

Just then, as if on cue, Eames stirs in Arthur's arms.

"Didn't you sleep at all, sweetheart?"

"Mmmm ... wasn't tired."

"Yes, well, I suppose I was the one expending all the effort ... "

Arthur rolls his eyes.

"So, listen, Eames, I was thinking something kind of insane. What are you doing between the end of school and camp?"

"Visiting home," Eames says, wrinkling his nose. "Why do you ask?"

"What if you ... visited mine too? Would you be interested?"

Eames' mouth falls open in surprise.

"You're joking."

"Just something I was thinking about. I wanted you to know ... I mean I want you to meet my parents eventually. I hope that's OK. I kind of figured next year sometime when they visit. But what if ... well ... "

"You ... Arthur that's ... I couldn't ask you to ... I can't even tell my own parents, I could never ask you to tell yours." 

And somehow that just makes Arthur want to do it even more, to show Eames that a family would accept him and that Arthur will share everything with him that Eames will allow. 

"But ... would you want to come, if I invite you, would you come?"

Eames' face is grave. 

"Would your parents ... would they even want to meet me?" 

"Eames, I can't promise how they'll react when, sooner or later, I tell them. But I like the idea of you coming to my house to meet them. And I .. I think they'll be more open to it the less time I spend lying to them about not being in a relationship. I'll talk it over with Heather, see what she thinks, but I'm not afraid, OK that's not true, I'm terrified to tell them, but not because I think they'll freak out and hate me, or hate you. I'm terrified in the same way I was to use the 'L word' before I arrived on Saturday. Please, trust me on this. I want you to meet my family. I want to give that to you." 

Eames buries his face against Arthur's collarbone, which definitely feels wet with what are probably tears. He kisses Eames' hair, and presses him close, and fights off the lump in his own throat.


End file.
